


Alternate Friendship

by HungLikeARainbro



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungLikeARainbro/pseuds/HungLikeARainbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Lister makes a bet with Parker that he can get the most unsociable kid in school, Rimmer, to be his friend. Not slash for once!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I Grow Up

**Author's Note:**

> I am moving my old fanfiction from FF.net to AO3 and will be creating new work soon. This was originally uploaded 26/06/2006.

_When I Grow Up._

Arnold Judas Rimmer, aged eleven and two-thirds stared at the title on his worksheet. It was a very nice title: written in impeccable cursive with a blue Parker pen and underlined using one of those interchangeable biros: First line red, second line green and third line black. The only problem was that underneath his perfect title was a dismal lack of prose.

_When I Grow Up._

An immediate and snide voice in Arnold Judas Rimmer’s head had whispered, “Think you'll live that long?” when Mr. Petersen had scribbled the same words upon the blackboard, not even ten minutes ago, using the squeakiest of his five chalks. Now Rimmer was looking at his page again and was surprised to find that he had written something underneath his flawless title.

_When I grow up, I would like to be_

The penmanship stopped there. Supposing that Arnold Judas Rimmer did live long enough to be classed as a grown-up, he knew exactly what he would be. His father had it all planned out. Before he was even off the podium on graduation day, his father would whisk him away to the Space Corps. where he would train to be a great pilot just like his brother John. Just like his other brothers, Frank and Howard, would one day be. There was just one problem with Arnold Judas Rimmer.

He was Arnold Judas Rimmer. The name said it all. 

If I’d had a good name, the boy thought as he chewed the end of the interchangeable biro, my life would be much simpler. No one would push Johnny Malone into a puddle during rugby. No one would steal Vince Logan's correcting fluid and use it all up. And no one would dare shove Bruce Firestorm’s head into a used toilet. 

He looked over at Porky Roebuck’s paper. Porky was his best friend i.e. the boy who picked on him the least. He hadn't even started. There was a crude doodle in the corner of the sheet of a dog tearing Mr. Petersen's arms off. Porky turned around and grinned, showing off his artwork. The boy could only smile at Porky and nod his head approvingly.

_When I grow up, I would like to be a…_

“Class, we have a new student joining us today.” Rimmer was semi-aware of Mr. Petersen’s voice from the front of the classroom. It drifted in and out of his mind like the sound of the sea inside of a shell.

“He's new on Io, so let’s give him a pleasant greeting.” The reason Mr. Petersen didn't use the phrase ‘warm welcome’ was because there was no such thing at his school, Rimmer was certain of that.

The classroom door opened and the new student was greeted by mumbled chuckles, as the new student had expected. He was small, underfed and scruffy. He had owned his brand-new school uniform barely a day and it already hung it tatters about him. It was ill-fitted, but he seemed to have managed to sculpt it into his own fashion statement. It stated, “I am a bum.”

“This is David Lister, from Earth. Now, we did a little about Earth last term, didn’t we, when we were studying third-world planets? Lister here is from England. Does anyone know where that is? Yes, Parker?”

“Between the rotting teabags and used nappies.” The class burst into laughter.

“Parker, you know perfectly well that only America is being used as a dump currently. The rest of the planet is not being demolished until next decade. Now, if you’d like to tell us a bit about yourself, Lister.”

David Lister reluctantly stood in front of the blackboard, eyeing the heckler carefully. “Well, me dad died when I was six and I’ve been with me foster parents for a few years now but money’s been dead difficult so the government took me away and shoved me here 'coz you were the cheapest private school in the solar system. ‘Rich kids taught poorly’, they called it.” Mr. Petersen smiled unpleasantly. “So anyway,” the tiny ruffian continued, “I’m here now and I don't want to be. The end.”

“Fanciful story, Mr. Lister. Go take your seat over there.”

“Oh, not here sir,” whined an acne-ridden boy sat in the direction that Mr. Petersen pointed. “I need the air-conditioner to myself or I get heat rashes. Put him next to Bonehead.”

“Fine. Next to Bonehead, then. Hop to it, boy!” David Lister slunk next to the Arnold Judas Rimmer and mouthed “Bonehead?” quizzically at him. The boy stared at his paper with wet, stinging eyes.

_When I grow up, I would like to be acknowledged._


	2. Loners

Lister dived out of the classroom the moment the bell rang and headed instinctively towards the darkest and most hidden place in the entire school - behind the bike sheds. Sure enough, when he got there he found his kindred, puffing away at stolen cigarettes. “Hey kid,” said one of the lads, scowling at him, “aren't you a little young to be smoking?”

“Aren't you a little old to have a Mickey Mouse watch?” Lister laughed at him. The kid muttered something unpleasant about first years but decided to bother Lister no more, especially when Lister flicked open his tobacco tin and rolled a quick butt like a professional. The older kids quickly finished their cigarettes and left him to his own devices, which consisted of leaning against the wall and sucking the smoke into his lungs like it was going out of fashion.

“Yo, Rattail-head!” Lister groaned with annoyance and crawled out from behind the bike shed.

When he saw who it was, he growled, “D'ya mind, I'm having a smoke.” It was the heckler from his class and about half a dozen of his friends, a term used loosely. They were obviously just his lackeys: and he looked the very picture of their leader with his arms folded and legs placed firmly apart, and standing a few inches taller than even the beefiest boy. Lister got the feeling they weren't there to give him a friendly initiation into their school.

“You'll get in big trouble doing that,” said Parker. “Ricky Collins got caught letting his mates watch his sister showering for 50pc at next door’s all-girls school, and they sent a letter home to his parents. Just for that!”

“I'm shaking. You're forgetting I haven’t got any real parents.”

“Wow, that must be so cool,” said a boy from the back.

“Yeah,” said Lister, “until like Christmas and birthdays and stuff.”

“Don't fraternise with the enemy, Stinky,” Parker pouted. “We’ve got to work out his place in our social order before we choose whether to have friendly conversations about home life, or kick his head in.” Lister got to his feet and stubbed his cigarette out on the shed wall. “Look, if this ‘working out my place’ involves a hot crumpet and my arse, I think I’ll decline and just hover outside the popular crowd. I don’t need to belong anywhere.”

“Loner, huh?”

“No, just a non-conformist.” Lister staggered back as Parker’s hand pushed him by his chest towards the back of the shed.

“Conform to this,” he spat and raised his fist.

“Don’t, Parky! It’s Bonehead,” Stinky Bateman yelped. Parker hid his hand behind his back and eyed Arnold Judas Rimmer. “How long have you been there?” Rimmer shrugged at him, his eyes low. “Then push off! This doesn’t involve you.”

“Mr. Farrell is looking for you. Something about the boy’s toilets,” he muttered, too quietly for Lister to hear. But Parker obviously did and his face paled. “Right, well. We can pick up after lunch. Be here at 1pm, Ratty,” he said to Lister. They all scurried off, pushing Rimmer roughly aside as they went. Lister smiled gratefully at Rimmer but his eyes were still concentrating on the ground.

“Thanks, man. I mean, I could fend off a couple but not eight at once.”

Rimmer answered Lister’s appreciation with a shrug. “Come on!” Lister grinned. “We’re going to be sitting next to each other all year, the least you could do is answer me properly.”

“Sorry.” And with that brief apology, Arnold Judas Rimmer turned tail and ran.


	3. Porky and Spotty

The kid informally known as Bonehead was becoming a tantalising enigma for Lister. Rimmer was already in the classroom when Lister arrived after break-time, with a few other eager-beavers who had huddled together to discuss Sylvia Plath ready for English Literature. But Rimmer sat alone in his chair, not doing anything bar staring at the wall. He didn’t even slouch, and seemed almost robotic to Lister with his disinterest for seeking comfort. “All right?” said Lister, giving him his warmest smile.

“Don't bother,” said a boy slumping into the chair in front. “Bonehead don't speak to no-one he don't trust, right Boney?”

“Shuddup, Porky...” said Rimmer with a flicker of personality that caught Lister’s attention. Porky laughed at him and stuck out his hand to Lister, who shook it, glad to have reception from someone. “Name’s Porky Roebuck. I can smuggle just about anything in and out of this place, so I’m everyone's friend. Ifn’you want to keep Parky off your back - you just tell him I’m your newest pal. He’d hate for me to cut off his supply of pirate DVDs.”

Lister grinned at him. “I appreciate it mate, but I should fight me own battles. So, you heard about our ‘Rumble in the Bikes’?”  
Porky nodded, tossing a packet of cigarettes at Lister. “The first one's always free.”

“Cheers mate! This is a really expensive brand.”

“Not if you go to the right places. But anyway, don't mind Sanjeev Parker and 'is lot. They’re all talk.”

“Easy for you to say,” an angry voice squeaked at them. ‘Spotty’ Cohen, the boy who didn’t want to sit next to Lister before, was regarding them all with utter contempt and utterly wet hair. “You didn’t get your head flushed down the loo during break.”

“That was you?!” Porky chortled.

Spotty chewed his bottom lip to stop himself from launching an attack on Porky and said, “Yeah and I heard Parker say he was next.” The ‘he’ was Lister. He regarded Spotty with a cheeky grin. “I’m not scared of him. He wants me? He can come and get me. I’ll make it worth his while.” Rimmer looked at him and opened his mouth to say something, but it was quickly shut and Lister shortly realised why. Sanjeev Parker had entered the room.

“Well, well, Ratty. Ready for a fate worse than Spotty’s? You better watch your pretty hair doesn't get caught up the u-bend.” His followers automatically burst into peals of rehearsed laughter. “And thanks for the tip about Farrell, Bonehead. As your reward you don’t have to be at the flag pole on Friday.” Rimmer nodded tamely. “Flagpole?” asked Lister when they’d gone.

“Yeah, every Friday Bonehead gets hoisted up the flagpole. No matter where he hides they find him so now he just waits for them there.”

“You shouldn’t take shit like that from them,” Lister told him forcefully. But Rimmer didn’t even seem to hear him.


	4. The Bet

“What the smeg’s your problem with that kid who sits next to me?” Lister demanded of Parker. He was certainly surprised that someone like Lister had the gall to ambush him on his way to lunch, least of all to question his social interactions with people he barely knew. “This school has a delicate hierarchy that you have to learn to respect and obey,” Parker explained haughtily, “and Bonehead is at the very bottom. He’s lower than you. He’s lower than the janitor. He’s lower than the dead mice in the Pest-O-Kill traps.”

“What’s he ever done to you?”

“Well, nothing,” someone in Sanjeev’s omnipresent huddle piped up.

“That’s the problem,” said Stinky, hitting him into silence. “He doesn’t talk to anyone. He just sits there studying.”

Lister nodded, “Ah... Brain-box?”

“Well, you’d think so... but he’s at the bottom of the class,” Parker snickered.

“He’s near the bottom of the year an' all,” Stinky added. “The only one lower than him is Ferd Moss – he’s a total retard.”

Lister sucked air through his teeth at the offensive term.

Stinky continued, “He’s the kind of kid that puts his pencil in his ear and then licks it afterwards.” Lister nodded again, his head in a deep well of thoughts. “Well, I’m going to go talk to him. Who knows, we could even get to be mates.”

“G’luck, Ratty. But you’ll never get him to be your friend, and you sure as hell won’t want to be,” Parker sneered.

“How much?” said Lister, keen to challenge the smug little bastard.

“Huh?”

Lister repeated himself, “How much do you want to bet?”

“Oh, er,” the question caught Parker completely off-guard. “10pc.”

“Pfft! A dollarpound.”

“No way! 30pc.”

“50pc and a can of coke. Brand name, not supermarket label.”

“Done.” Parker felt he’d done alright on the deal. He knew there was no way Rimmer would be Lister’s friend and that Lister would quickly feel glad of it. Lister turned around and marched confidently to where he had seen Rimmer scuttle away when the bell rang. “Sanjeev,” said Stinky, “what if he loses the bet?”

“I get a can of coke.”

“And what if he wins the bet?” Stinky ventured further. Sanjeev smiled evilly as Lister disappeared from sight into the library. “Then we beat the crap out of him for associating with losers.”


	5. Advice

“Heya!” To Lister’s disappointment the boy instinctively flinched at the sound of his voice and stared at his book as if hoping that laser beams would jet from his eyes and set it alight. “My name’s Lister. Dave Lister.”

The boy scoffed, “My name's Bond. James Bond.” Lister frowned at him. The boy eventually looked over the top of his book. “It was a catchphrase. From an old series of films. Very popular in the late 20th century.”

“I know, I got it. So, you like old movies, eh? Me too. Seen ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?”

“No.”

“Er, ‘Scrooged’?”

“No.”

“‘Citizen Kane’?”

“Yes.”

Lister was relieved to get a handhold at last. “Good, wasn’t it?”

“Not really. I like war films.”

“Oh, like ‘Zulu’ and stuff.”

“Yes, I liked ‘Zulu’,” said Rimmer, though rather unenthusiastically.

“Yeah well, bare boobs, mindless slaughter and Michael Caine. What more could you ask for in a film?” Rimmer put his book down. “That’s irony, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s steely. Like irony, but easier to clean.”

“What do you want anyway? No one talks to me ever, except Porky, and that’s how I like it. Just me and my book.”

“Loner?”

“No, it’s mine. The library has the comfiest chairs, that’s all.”

Lister chuckled and tried again, “So, what’s your name?”

“Arnold Rimmer.”

Lister drew in a whistle of breath through his teeth, “What about your middle name?”

“Judas,” said Rimmer, and it was followed by another quick breath from Lister. “Got any nicknames? Besides ‘Bonehead’ I mean.”

“None.”

“Want one?”

“No! Look, is there something you want or what? If you want to beat me up then take a ticket.”

“Hey, hey! What’s with that?” said Lister, genuinely offended. “I’m new and I just want to make some friends.” Rimmer stood up and thrust his book into his school-commissioned satchel. “Here’s a tip, newbie. Choose your friends more wisely.” And Rimmer once again walked away from a flabbergasted Lister.


	6. A Familiar Set-Up

Rimmer’s eyelids began to twitch uncontrollably when he looked over at his bunk and saw Lister lying on it, chewing his dreadlocks and flicking through one of Rimmer’s school rule books. “What are you, a cat?” 

“Huh?”

“You follow me around even though I don’t like you.”

“I don’t think you have any feelings good or bad towards me. That’s what’s interesting. Besides, this is my bunk. Number 13.”

“That’s 13 A, you want 13 B. The spare bunk is on top. The bottom one is mine.”

“Really? I saw it all made up and neat and thought it wasn’t taken.”

“It’s called making the bed. We _all_ do it, every morning.”

“Fair enough,” said Lister supping at his can of quadruple strength lager and throwing his junk onto the top bunk. Rimmer gaped at him and pointed at the beer as if it were a live grenade. “You can’t drink that! You’re in complete violation of school rule number ZX35/J23!!!”

“ZX35/J23?” said Lister, peering into the book. “No student will rub linseed oil into the school cormorant.”

“Well, maybe it was J32. Anyway, you’re under the legal drinking age by seven years!”

“But that’s what makes it taste better. Want some?”

“No, I certainly do not! You are unbelievable!”

“Yes I am,” Lister grinned. “But I read a beer-mat in my dad’s pub that said ‘Believing hath a core of unbelieving’. It’s funny, I can’t remember much about his face but I remember a beer-mat.” The way Rimmer looked at Lister at that moment was something he never forgot. It was almost as if he was on the brink of raucous laughter, but he had moist eyes and his skinny arms were trembling. “Are you all right?” asked Lister. Rimmer nodded his head and pretended to search for his boxing gloves to sleep with.

***

The next week was the most bizarre week in Rimmer’s short life. Lister’s words ‘Believing hath a core of unbelieving’' kept ringing in his ears.

He’d spent all his life believing. Believing that he was wanted in the world for some reason, whether it should be revealed that day or when he was older. That he wasn’t born without purpose; this thought was all he had, although it was primarily unbelievable, that was how sad the whole affair was. And suddenly, from out of nowhere, there was now someone who seemed determined to rely on his presence.

Lister didn’t seem interested in making friends with anyone but him. It was puzzling, but warming. He had been chosen. Chosen out of all the other boys. Lister wasn’t exactly Rimmer's perfect choice for a friend. But he did play R.I.S.K. with him, and listen to his jingles soundtracks, and was actually nice to him.

There was just one thing that niggled Rimmer’s mind. Lister would occasionally hang around with Sanjeev Parker. And it was in Rimmer’s nature to distrust anyone on speaking terms with Sanjeev Parker.


	7. Regret

“How’s it going, Ratty? He driven you mad yet?” Sanjeev Parker and his cronies had cornered Lister for the fifth time that week, this time in the toilets. Lister was damned fed up of it by now. “Look, he’ll figure out that we have a bet if you keep talking to me. Idiots!”

“We’re just checking on your progress,” said Stinky.

“And drowning Spotty again,” Parker laughed, knocking a stall with his foot. “You alright in there, Spotty?” There was a subdued gurgle. Lister's fists clenched as they all howled with laughter at their wicked deed of the day. “Look, we’re obviously mates now. So gimme my coke.”

“Nuh-uh, Rattail-head. He’s got to actually say it.”

“What?! That wasn’t the deal!”

“He’s got to say, within our hearing range, that you two are friends. You can’t ask, and have him go ‘yes’ or ‘of course we are’. We want the word ‘friends’ to be said.” Lister punched the wall close to Parker’s head. “You’re smegging joking. You better be smegging joking.”

“No. And if he doesn’t say it by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll both get it.”

Lister's fist quivered in anticipation but it was lowered to his side and kept there, biding its time. “You try anything on me, or Rimmer, and I promise you pal - I won’t go down easily.” Lister walked out, his body screaming for a fight. But Lister knew the Queensbury rules of school. Fighting was always punishable, but he had to throw the second punch to be in favour with the headmaster. He couldn’t let Parker get to him. For now, he had to concentrate on winning the bet.

A bet which was already tearing him up inside.

Lister liked Rimmer. He couldn’t help it. He understood why others didn’t: Rimmer’s organ music was grating, his taste in films was peculiar and the less said about his fetish for war leaders the better. But between all this, Rimmer had a rapier wit which he used to full extent once he was comfortable with people.

Lister hadn’t quite believed Porky when he’d said that Rimmer was a laugh sometimes. But he had Lister in stitches with his impersonations of classmates, and Lister made Rimmer laugh too. Proper laughter. People kept looking over at them because they thought Rimmer was having epileptic fits.

They really were friends, as Lister had wanted. But he knew if Rimmer found out about the bet, he’d never believe Lister if he told him that it was just concurrent. He had to win the bet and get it out of the way before Rimmer found out. He just had to.


	8. We're Friends... Right?

Rimmer noticed fairly quickly that Lister was incredibly flustered. He had lost all five rounds of ‘Shit-head’ that they had played on Rimmer’s bunk. He normally beat Rimmer 9-1. And Lister’s agitation increased tenfold when Parker came in for bedtime. “Lights out soon,” said Rimmer glancing at his alarm clock. “One more game?”

“Mm.” Lister dealt the cards as slowly as possible. Rimmer picked up his cards and sorted them into order. “Are you feeling alright, Lister?”

“Yeah... Rimmer, um...you don’t still hate me, do you?”

Rimmer had never heard such an absurd question and snapped at Lister, “Of course not! If I hated you, we wouldn’t be playing cards on my bed, now would we?”

“We’re friends then, right?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

Lister looked over at Parker’s smarmy face. “Suppose what?” he probed.

“That we are.”

“Are what?”

“What?”

“What _are_ we?” Lister groaned, his face contorted in frustration.

“Lister, are you okay? I told you not to eat vindaloo at breakfast, lunch AND dinner.” Lister sighed and couldn’t help admiring Rimmer’s concern. If he only knew what a smeg his new friend really was. He gathered the cards up and gave them to Rimmer. “No more tonight. I have to go brush my teeth.” He subtly nodded at Parker to join him outside the room. Rimmer watched them go with growing uncertainty. It didn’t take a genius to work out that something was up. Lister hadn’t brushed his teeth all week.

“You do realise he’s being your friend for a bet.”

Rimmer looked up at Spotty Cohen with wide eyes. “What?” he whispered. Spotty leant against Rimmer and Lister’s bunks. He had always enjoyed being the bearer of bad news. “I heard them in the loo earlier. Parker made a bet with Lister that he couldn’t get you to say that you two were friends. I can’t believe you actually thought Lister liked you. You really are a bonehead. Come on – we’re all going to watch Ricky’s sister change for bed. We need to stand on your shoulders.”

Rimmer quietly shuffled the cards. Of course, he reflected. What an idiot you are, Arnold Judas Rimmer. How could you not have seen it? He put the cards away in his drawer before meekly following Spotty out to the stairs.


	9. Confrontation

Parker pushed Lister aside, ignoring when the other lads came storming out of the dormitory. “Whaddya mean the bet’s off?” he growled into his ear.

“I like the guy. I don’t want to piss him off. He’s cool when you get to know him.”

“Hah! He’s a rat’s turd, and you’re a rat’s turd lover.” Parker began to roll up his sleeves. “Know what happens to rat’s turd lovers?”

“Same that’s going to happen to you,” said Lister, his sleeves already rolled up and raring to go. Parker had the advantage, he had to admit. He was taller, stronger and most likely smarter. But Lister had had more fights than Sanjeev had had dentist appointments.

Parker lurched forward with a right-handed upward punch – a common first move – which Lister dodged easily. Parker swung his leg around and caught Lister from below. He staggered backwards but quickly regained his footing. Parker saw his opening elbowed Lister in the right side. Lister collapsed, vomiting harshly. 

Stinky had been wrong. Parker wasn’t all talk. He knew exactly what he was doing. Parker stared as Lister pulled himself up and grinned at him through pain. “Good,” he chuckled. “I haven’t had an equal match in a while. My turn...”

***

Lister limped into the dormitory clutching his stomach, followed by a well-tenderised Sanjeev Parker. Lister was impressed - not many regained consciousness so soon after a fight with him. He lowered himself into Rimmer’s bed and hoped he wouldn’t ask questions and just let him lie there. Where is Rimmer, he wondered, his torso aching.

“Oh Lister, there you are. Have you seen Bonehead?”

“No. I left him here,” he groaned, trying to turn his head to look at Porky.

“Odd,” Porky pondered. “He was with us when we went to peek at Ricky’s sis, but he’d gone before we got there. I fawt he’d chickened out and come back here. I wanted to as well when I seen them storm clouds. Rain ain’t no fun in a wool blazer.”

“Doubtful,” said Spotty with a soft chuckle. “I'll _bet_ he’s really mad at Lister. Ack!”

Lister thrust Spotty against the wall with his one intact hand around his shirt-collar. “What? What did you tell him you f-” Porky broke in between them and brushed Lister away. “Hold it, guys! What is goin’ on 'ere?”

“This little twat squealed on me!”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who bet on a friend! You’re a bigger twat! You’re the Grand Canyon of twats!” Spotty said, his voice escalating into a petrified screech. Lister buried his face into his hand. He couldn’t deny it. “So that’s why you bin 'anging round him. We fawt you were mental. But money… yeah, make’s more sense.”

“Where could he have gone?” Lister despaired out loud.

Porky tapped his chin and mumbled, “Well...”

“What? Where?”

“I dunno if he’d be that stupid but... there’s a tree at the far end of the playin’ field. He sometimes goes there to fink and stuff.” With a cry of dismay Lister was down the stairs and gone into the pendulous night.


	10. Confirmation

Lister slipped for a third time on the slimy field as he pelted down to the tree. His stomach was still aching terribly, but he just had to reach Rimmer and explain. He tried to run the words over in his head, but as he slowed down near the tree’s crooked trunk, he realised that all the words made no sense whatever way he ordered them. He’d been thinking gibberish the entire time.

“Rimmer?” Lister scanned the branches desperately, thankful for the flashes of lightening that brightened his vision, and terrified at the same time that they were evidence of the storm possibly getting nearer. He soon spotted Rimmer, surprisingly high up, curled up against the trunk shivering and holding his legs against him for warmth.

“There you are! Come on, it’s wet. You’ll get a cold.” Lister made his voice as light as possible. Perhaps Rimmer would pretend not to know if he thought Lister didn't know he knew. Rimmer didn’t move. Lister sighed and, ignoring his throbbing injuries, grabbed the nearest branch and attempted to haul himself up.

“GEDDOWN!” Rimmer’s shrill voice came from out of the blue. Lister leapt back from the tree obediently.

“All right, but you’ve got to come down too.”

“Go away. I know about the bet. I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

“I know what you must think of me. I think it too. I’m a total piece of smeg. I’m sorry about the bet – I really am. But I wanted to be your mate anyway. I don’t think anyone deserves to be alone. I know what it’s like. I don’t wish it on anyone.”

Rimmer sobbed silently into his pyjama sleeve, hating such gentle words.

I thought I wanted to be alone. Is that how I truly feel, or is that what I was told to feel? Perhaps it was to make it easier for me, for the times when I am alone. Did I convince myself to push people away to save myself from hurt when they would walk away voluntarily? Is Davey someone I should keep nearby?

Rimmer lifted his head suddenly. Lister had been silent for about five minutes. “Lister? Are you still there?” He could still make Lister out. Was he being given the silent treatment? Lister wasn’t like that, he was sure. His throat tightened.

“Lister...?” The lightening had stopped briefly and Rimmer’s eyes slowly adjusted in the darkness. Lister was lying in the mud. 

Rimmer almost fell out of the tree as he scrambled his way down the branches and landed inelegantly beside Lister's fallen body. “Lister? Don't smeg about, you goit! Get up!” He reached out tentatively towards Lister’s arm and his hand trembled against the cool skin. His heart pounded and he moved his hand up to Lister’s face; and he was relieved to feel him breathing. But it was heavy breathing, almost choking-sounding, and his face was hot to the touch. “You stupid smeg, you’ve got a fever. You didn’t even come out with a coat on, you... _you_.” Rimmer felt that was the best insult possible at that moment. 

He tried to haul Lister up to his feet, but Lister yelped out in pain so loudly and suddenly that he was almost back in the mud again. It was then that Rimmer noticed the bruising from the fight, and Lister clutching his stomach in agony. The elbow was one of Parker’s favourite moves. Rimmer had seen it used on several boys who had been stupid enough to challenge Parker. Rimmer was bowled over by how Lister hadn’t been comatose by it. He slowly and carefully dragged Lister back to the school, praying frantically that they wouldn’t be discovered.


	11. In Trouble

“Bonehead? Get inside at once,” Mr. Petersen growled from the bright, cosy-looking doorway.

Rimmer had been caught completely off-guard creeping towards the school keeping a lookout before bringing Lister indoors, and despite wanting to obey, he instead began to feverishly babble on about Lister and bets and Parker instead and eventually Mr. Petersen allowed himself to be dragged outside by the anxious boy, and hoped that what he would see would explain everything. But instead, he found David Lister propped against the bike shed in obvious pain. Mr. Petersen fell to him and held his hand against his head. Rimmer waited, impatiently twiddling his thumbs and with his leg jiggling like mad.

“Rimmer, stay with him. I’ll just fetch the nurse.”

“Sir, what is it? You’ve gone really white.”

“"I’m sure it’s nothing but...” Mr. Petersen smiled reassuringly, “just stay here.” Rimmer felt far from reassured as he watched Mr. Petersen pelting down the schoolyard. He had never called him Rimmer before.

***

The cold blue lights of the ambulance faded into the distance and the gossiping youths crowding the hall and stairs were marched back to their dormitories. Rimmer was led inside to the teacher’s lounge and presented with a mug of cocoa. 

“What happened, boy?” Rimmer stared at Mr. Petersen with frightened Bambi eyes, too tired to answer. “I settle down with a copy of ‘Basic Instinct’, and five seconds before _that_ scene, I get Roebuck banging away at my door telling me that you were about to be, and I quote, “electronified”. I go to your dormitory and find Sanjeev beaten to a pulp, and bunks 13 A and 13 B empty.”

“They were fighting about me, sir.”

“Ah. Young love.”

“Sir! That’s not funny!”

Mr. Petersen smiled thoughtfully and murmured, “No, it isn’t. Sanjeev won’t take long to recover but Lister’s injuries are quite severe. It seems he won the fight, but one of his injuries took a little time to reveal its seriousness.” Rimmer let his drink go cold and listened carefully to Mr. Petersen’s gentle explanation of acute appendicitis.

***

Rimmer felt detached from the world as he seemingly floated into the dormitory and alighted onto his bed. He wasn’t aware of Porky bombarding him with questions about Lister, nor Spotty apologising vehemently over and over. All he could see was a slimy grin from across the room. A pair of unfeeling lips with nothing but self-righteous arrogance to display. Lister had obviously missed a spot during his fight with the owner of those lips. Rimmer, not even thinking to pick up his boxing gloves, finished the job with one fell swoop. 


	12. All's Well That Ends Well

There was nothing worse, Rimmer thought, than the smell of a hospital. It reminded him too much of his father’s first stroke. It was only mild, but Mr. Rimmer was so convinced that he would die that he had sat all his sons down and ranted for several hours about how they were to function in his memory. John would be the strong and brave son, Frank was to be clever and logical son, Howard was to be the talented and spiritual one.

Mr. Rimmer then fell asleep and forgot all about little Arnold. He decided his function would be to sit by his father’s side until he woke up. He never even got a ‘thank you’. Rather, his mother scolded him for bothering his father for so long.

If I went in, Rimmer thought, hovering outside Lister’s room, would I be scolded again? “I don’t care,” he said defiantly to the empty corridor. “He is no position to be scolding _me_. I shall give him a piece of my mind. He shall then kow-tow for my forgiveness.” He paused briefly to consider his plan of action. “No, it would be cruel to make him bow after surgery. He can do it when he’s better.”

“Rimmer?” Mr. Petersen’s hand landed on Rimmer’s shoulder. “You can go in now. It’s been only a few days so he’s still a little groggy from the painkillers but he’s asked for you several times. You should see him before he has a nap.”

Lister didn’t move when they went in and he looked smaller than ever in the huge white bed. “S’up?” he waved at Rimmer. Rimmer stiffened, not sure what to say. Mr. Petersen, sensing the tension, excused himself. 

“What happened to your hand?” Lister asked.

Rimmer sat down in a chair nearby, looking down at his feet as he used to before. “I fell,” he mumbled, fiddling with the bandage. “You, er…You lied to me…”

“I know, Rimmer. I'm really sorry. I can’t say that enough times I know but-” 

Rimmer cut him off, “You made me believe that you were my friend.”

“I know, I know. I _am_ really sorry, _honestly_.”

“I should unplug every machine you're hooked up to and you'd deserve it.” Rimmer looked at him, his eyes burning. 

Lister gulped uncertainly. “Yes, yes I would.”

“So… why can’t I?” Rimmer whispered. “Why am I so glad you’re alright?”

Lister grinned, “Coz I’m great.”

“You’re a smeg,” said Rimmer, smiling back.

***

News had quickly spread about the Parker / Lister / Rimmer fight. Parker lost his top-dog status and everyone impatiently awaited Lister’s return so that he could rule the roost. And to Rimmer’s surprise, he was deemed his subordinate due to the one lucky punch that resulted in Parker losing an adult incisor and this automatically made him the temporary chief of the first years. He was called Rimmer, sometimes sir, by everyone and it was difficult for Rimmer not to take advantage of the lunch queue privileges. But he knew Lister would tell him off later so he tried to appear embarrassed and shrug off the gifts and praise.

It was all false anyway. He had only one real friend.

He visited Lister as often as possible and accompanied him back to the school once he was well. Lister was confused as the other children scattered in every direction as he walked down the hall. “Looks like I’ve got a bit of a rep.”

“Is that so bad?” said Rimmer. “It means no one, especially Sanjeev, will bother you.”

“Yeah but, no one bothering me means no one even speaking to me. I can’t make any friends.”

“Oh…” Rimmer said. Lister patted his head. “Aww, Rimsy. You’ll still be my best friend. Don’t be jealous.”

“I am not jealous, goit! Anyway, sure it’s not my organ music you like?”

“Well it’s a bonus,” Lister grinned the way he always grinned, and Rimmer believed him. Rimmer finally felt the warm feelings of trust and happiness that being alone had denied him. He could now do something all kids could do.

He could believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And that's the end of this story! This story was all about me wanting to write something about the cute and vulnerableside of Rimmer, but I didn't want to go too AU. I got the idea when I was watching Dimension Jump (yet again). Young Rimmer is just too freaking adorable and pathetic for words, but not quite world-weary enough for all the scathing comments. Now for a few author's notes -_
> 
> _1\. Appendicitus - I'm pretty sure it can't be caused by a punch, so obviously it started before the fight. There are a few subtle hints._
> 
> _2\. Sanjeev Parker - Mmm, I love making Original Characters, especially non-MarySues. Sanjeev is from Sanjeev Bhaskar, one of the Goodness Gracious Me team, and Parker is just because it's such a boys' school name._
> 
> _3\. Mr Petersen - Obviously from Olaf Petersen, Lister's friend aboard the Red Dwarf._
> 
> _4\. Spotty Cohen - Spotty is a common nickname, and Cohen is from The Meaning of Life._


End file.
